


Strangers

by bklt



Series: Tether [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 06:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13969605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bklt/pseuds/bklt
Summary: It was an inevitability in that she knew one day their history would cease to be a factor anymore. A line had to be drawn somewhere, stopping the bleeding before it got out of control. She had failed on so many occasions out of sentimentality, and this time, she would do right by her and Hawke.Aveline reflects on her friendship with Hawke after she makes a hard decision.





	1. Chapter 1

This was an inevitability.

When Aveline had received the report from a nervous guard in Lowtown summoning her to the Hanged Man, she didn’t feel surprised. Expectation, no matter how grim, has an odd sense of relief when it finally comes to pass.

If she believed in such things, she could have sworn that the Maker was testing her with the entirety of the Hawke family. _Her_ Hawke had been acting increasingly erratic since Leandra’s passing, emotions spiking and lulling in ways that were uncharacteristic of her. Initially she dismissed it as someone coming to terms with their grief, grappling with complicated revelations and processes. But when Isabela left Kirkwall after Hawke’s duel for her freedom, it was the final chink in the armour to break her. Whatever her opinion on the pirate-which was unfavourable at best-she had to concede that she kept Hawke company. Even with her inclination towards debauchery, she did a surprisingly fine job at reeling her in, and was probably the reason why she didn’t hit bottom sooner. With her gone, Hawke was left alone to rot away in a mansion with no one left to fill it.

It started slowly at first. Aveline would stop hearing from Hawke for days, which eventually turned to long weeks of neither hide nor hair of her, with sparse reports of her being seen around town the only indication that she was still alive. Other times she couldn’t seem to stop taking jobs, doing anything to not stay in place. It became disconcerting, but the reoccurring thought that it was an extension of her sadness kept her from doing anything about it, figuring that Hawke needed more space to collect her pieces.

There was a dark seed that lay in the pit of her stomach that she hated to dwell upon, the one that made her doubt her own convictions that she so proudly wore like plate. Hawke had a penchant for trouble of all sorts, doing things that usually hinged on legal technicalities that kept her conscience quiet with enough justification. She had even been dragged along to many of these escapades, and, to her surprise and disgust, she found herself silently approving of Hawke’s actions more than she would like. Yet more and more it crept on her, the feeling that she was enabling her old friend because to do so otherwise would be breaking something sacred between them.

She remembered the image of Lothering burning in the distance, he sound of Carver’s bones cracking into the earth. Her hands could still feel the phantom sensation of the dagger piercing through Wesley’s chest, face pale with corruption as she lovingly took the life from him.  Any social code for how to act was thrown out in their time of crisis, the two of them operating on pure instinct by the time they took ship to Kirkwall. The Hawke siblings paid with a years worth of sweat and blood to get their family—and her—into the city, asking for nothing in return despite knowing each other for only a few weeks. After all, they were now strangers eternally intertwined, bound by shared sorrow. With Leandra’s prodding, Aveline was able to stay in Gamlen’s shack until she could find work of her own. She saw more than one heated argument between the Hawkes and Gamlen, the same grievances repeated but hurting each other as if it were the first time. Sometimes she heard Leandra mourning with Bethany in the bunk below them while she lay back to back with Marian, with no other place to sleep unless she took to the dirty floor. These were private moments she shouldn’t have seen, secrets about the Hawke family that no one but her knew and would take to her grave.

It was an inevitability in that she knew one day their history would cease to be a factor anymore. A line had to be drawn somewhere, stopping the bleeding before it got out of control. She had failed on so many occasions out of sentimentality, and this time, she would do right by her and Hawke.

There was a heavy sense of finality as she burst through the tavern doors, immediately scanning the Hanged Man for the tell-tale red smear. It caught her eye in the corner, a radius of blank space around the table like an impact site.

Upon seeing her old friend, Hawke spread her arms invitingly, a cocky grin plastered across her face.

“Aveline! What brings you to this fine establishment?”

Aveline crossed her arms in front of her armoured chest, glaring at Hawke sternly. She looked in a bad way, her hair unkept and grown out to her shoulders, eyes unfocused and bloodshot from the whiskey she had been drinking all night.  

“You know why I’m here, Hawke.”

Her grin turned wide and goofy, the alcohol further showing its effect. “I didn’t start it. Honest.”

Aveline went deadpan, lazily glancing at the passed out patron on the ground. His face looked wrong from Hawke’s rearranging of it, swelled up and already bruised. “No?”

“Well, I got him first, but it wasn’t completely unwarranted, trust me.” She looked proud of herself, leaning back in her chair and nonchalantly and reaching for another sip of her cup before Aveline intervened and slammed her hand back on the table.

“How was this warranted?” she asked incredulously.

Hawke’s eyes darted to the sprawled body, giving him a distasteful glare before answering. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

Straightening her back and holding her head high, Aveline hoped her elevated posture would convince her brain that she felt more assured than she actually did. “You can tell me on the way to the brig.”

Hawke’s dark eyebrows drew inward as if she discovered something curious, but not wholly unexpected. “Huh.”

“Right now,” Aveline added, in case she needed affirmation that she was serious.

“He did start it,” Hawke repeated slowly, dazed over the gravity of what Aveline was telling her. People were starting to look over, and Aveline was running out of time to make as little as a scene as she could. Crouching down to meet Hawke’s line of sight, she touched her knee sympathetically and whispered so no one could hear their exchange.

“I don’t want to do this either-but I can’t just let it slide, Marian.”

The use of her first name made Hawke jolt. With her mother gone and Bethany in the Circle she hadn’t heard it in a while, with Aveline the only other person she let call her by it. Placing her bruised hand over hers, Hawke swallowed and nodded, trying to steady her swaying movements. “I know.” She smiled despite everything, looking at Aveline with an odd fondness given the situation. “That’s just who you are.”

She frowned at that, conflicted by Hawke’s appraisal. Reaching behind her, Aveline produced the bulky handcuffs from her belt as she stood up, struggling to keep her face free of emotion. “I know you don’t need these, but-”

Hawke’s laugh cut to her core, who dramatically presented her wrists to be locked. “Protocol, I know. Don’t worry, this isn’t my first time in handcuffs.”

The crass joke was her way of shielding her embarrassment, but her upward gaze past Aveline and to the far wall and flush spreading over her tan cheeks and betrayed her. As carefully as she could, Aveline placed the metal arches on Hawke’s wrists and made sure the horizontal bar didn’t cut into them when she locked her bonds. Hawke let her arms fall with a clink, rotating her joints experimentally and getting a feel for the iron around them. Aveline wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t this. Weaseling out of harrowing situations was Hawke’s specialty, but she complied with no argument at hand. There was no fight left in her, apparently all spent in her scuffle.

Using her lips, Hawke pointed at the man on the floor. “What about that miserable wretch?”

“It’s taken care of. Let’s go.”

All eyes were on them as they left the corner, an uncharacteristic hush falling over the tavern as she took Hawke away. People would undoubtedly speak of this in hushed whispers, arresting someone as high profile—and well liked—person as Hawke. Status and rumours were never a factor that bothered Aveline, and she could take whatever aggression came her way.

The evening hair was refreshing and cool, the autumn breeze a welcome change from the heat and stench that so permeated the Hanged Man. Aveline held the door open for Hawke, who tilted her head upwards in contemplation. She took a hold of Hawke’s bicep, an indication that it was time to move.

Maneuvering while drunk was something Hawke was quite used to, stumbling minimally on the cracked street. The two women walked wordlessly for a few awkward minutes, the rattling of handcuff chains a rhythm for their slow march to the keep.

“Do I get breakfast in the morning, or do you shove me out as soon as I wake up?”

“You out of everyone in this city shouldn’t worry about whether they get a meal or not.”

“That’s a no then?”

The only answer Aveline gave was a sigh, not in the mood to banter with Hawke. This was going to be a long night.

“Well, I for one have always wondered what the inside of a jail cell looked like.” Hawke waited for a response and grew impatient once she realized she wasn’t going to get one. “So stoic, Aveline! I know you want to handle me like everyone else, but the silent treatment is throwing me off a little”

“I’m not sure if you’re too drunk or if you don’t care. Do you realize what’s happening right now? I need to know you understand.”

As if she found the very notion that any amount of alcohol would be enough to confuse her offensive, Hawke scoffed. “I’m drunk, but I’m not that drunk.” She held up her cuffed hands and shook them, the chain clanging obnoxiously. “Though I usually like some build-up before getting to the fun part.”

“Do you have a comment for everything?” In her annoyance, Aveline snapped more aggressively than intended. Hawke went rigid, taken aback and her tone radically dropping in an instant.

“Right. I’ll be quiet, I suppose.”

That’s not what she wanted either, the silence feeling like an ever growing rift between them. It would be easier if Hawke wasn’t complaisent to the point of seeming apathetic. An angry reaction would, at the very least, show that she understood the severity of the situation and how far Aveline had been pushed. So she let the quiet grow, listening to the continuing thump of chains and the wind billowing through the torn awnings of shambled buildings.

“Permission to speak?” Hawke slurred.

“Just talk, Hawke.”

“So...why now? There are a lot of other, actual things you could have gotten me for. Why a bar brawl?”

Aveline had been asking herself the same question the entire night, still unable to arrive at an answer that she could be happy with. “This isn’t just about punishing you. Firstly, you’re drunk enough to have caused a scene...a “bar brawl” is putting it lightly. Secondly, your behaviour has been getting worse. I understand that it’s been hard, but there’s a limit. You’ve been dangerous to yourself, and now you're dangerous to other people. This is a new low. Beneath you.”

“You’re worried about me?” The way Hawke sounded was almost childish, like she had been surprised with a toy at Feast Day.

“Of course I’m worried. Don’t sound so shocked.” She paused, not wanting to dwell on that thought. “You should be happy I’m not arresting you for something bigger.”

“Teaching me a lesson without the time? How sweet of you.”

“What you did was wrong, but I doubt any amount of time will get you to regret it. Speaking of which...what did happen back there?”

Hawke grumbled, counting on Aveline to forget that she said she’d tell the story later. “Some stuff.”

“‘Some stuff’ that made you mad enough to knock a man on his ass. Drunk or not, it takes some prodding to make you angry.”

“You never push me to tell you these things,” Hawke deflected.

“Frankly, I think I deserve to know. But I won't push you further. The option is there, if you want to talk about it.”

Hawke looked conflicted, stuck between wanting to say nothing but needing to. Letting out a long sigh, she shrugged. “Long story short, he feels, ah, slighted by Isabela. You can imagine his abundant glee that she’s been gone for a while. I suppose he decided to drag me down with him, and I fell for it. He kept hounding me, Aveline. Got right up in my face with that sneer of his. He called her every slur in the book-a bitch, a whore, you name it. And then-” she let herself take a few breaths, trying to keep up with herself. “He said I was just a plaything. An easy lay like everyone else.”

“You don’t have to continue if-”

“And those were the _nice_ things he said,” she laughed bitterly, unable to stop her recounting of events now that she had begun. “People assume a lot of things when they don’t know the quarter of it, or anything about her. That’s not who she is. I know you don’t feel that way but...it’s complicated. I think she felt guilty for everything and left.”

That Hawke had attacked someone over the same things she said about Isabela—to her face, even—made Aveline wonder what Hawke thought of her. She was still angry on her behalf that Isabela up and left, especially after Hawke had risked her life so she could stay. Hearing Hawke still defend her had Aveline torn between believing she had misjudged her, or she had dug her hooks into Hawke so deeply that she was deluding herself. Right now, it wasn’t about what she thought; the last thing her friend wanted to hear was her opinion on the matter. “I’m sorry. I can’t pretend to understand, but I know you two were-”

“We weren’t in love or anything,” she clarified. Staring at her bound wrists, she dropped her voice to a choked whisper. “It doesn't matter what we were. I lost a friend. Someone who was on the same page as me. It’s like losing a limb, or something like that.” A slight smile crept onto her lips, looking distant as she remembered secret things that Aveline knew she wasn’t privy to.

“She writes great poetry, believe it or not, and it’s not just dirty stuff either. You wouldn’t expect it but...get to know her and it seems perfectly fitting.”

“I’ll admit that does seem hard to believe.”

Hawke chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “Did you know she made me tea and whiskey in the morning? Always exactly the way I like it, every time. She’d—Maker, if you ever tell her I told you this—she’d sing to me. Sea shanties, folk songs...simple things. She’s full of surprises. Good ones.” Suddenly her eyes went wide and she doubled over, she chained hands trying to reach her mouth and instead smacking into her face with a dull thud.

“Shit.”

Aveline was swift, leading her to a back alley for some privacy. With as much delicacy as her gauntlets could give, she held Hawke’s long hair behind her as she heaved onto the cobblestone, coughing loudly in between.

“Breath, Hawke. It’s okay.”

Finally finished, Hawke reached for her face again to clean her mouth before Aveline intercepted. She undid her orange scarf, seeing the gash above her lip from the cuffs beginning to bleed out. With one end of the fabric she wiped Hawke’s lips and used the clean side to pat her wound, holding it up to soak up the blood. “Keep pressing on it. Don’t hit yourself this time...I only had that one scarf.”

Positioning her arms proved difficult for Hawke, holding them taut against her body to keep the scarf on her cut. The pathetic image in front of Aveline made her heart sink, hr armour feeling ten times heavy as they began to walk again.

This was worse than unnecessary; it was cruel and humiliating. Here she was, hand closed around Hawke’s arm and leading her to the Viscount’s Keep like a common criminal. She had embarrassed her in front of a packed tavern and lead her on a walk of shame with her hands tied as everyone looked on. Now, seeing her like this, heartbroken and lost with her arms twisted over her face had Aveline asking if she was doing this for her benefit more than Hawke’s. There was a sharp hiss of breath beside her, and she noticed that Hawke had begun to shiver. As they climbed the steps into Hightown, Aveline tried to remember if Hawke had always been so small.

“We’re almost there,” she said reassuringly, as if laying on a metal cot behind bars was supposed to be a comfort to look forward to. Hawke had nothing left to say and continued to walk silently, gloomily staring ahead as their journey reached its end; rounding the final corner meant passing beside her estate. When the dreaded moment had come, she cast a longing glance at the house she wouldn’t be returning to for the night, her sigh barely audible behind her scarf. Aveline pretended not to see, head snapping downwards when caught her looking.

To Aveline’s relief, the keep was largely empty at this time of night. Wanting to take no chances, she quickly shepherded Hawke to the cells, hoping no one else would see her in the state she was in. The guard posted at the desk outside of the prison wing looked at Hawke quizzically, wordlessly sliding the keys over to Aveline. He knew that she would want to deal with her old friend personally. Nodding a wordless thanks and grabbing the keys, she took Hawke’s arm one last time and lead her to a cell away from the others. Aveline fumbled with the lock before the barred door opened with a grating creak. She unlocked the handcuffs from Hawke’s wrists, who rubbed the exposed skin in relief. Hesitantly, she stepped inside, taking a sweeping scan at her surroundings before turning to face Aveline.

“Very nice. It’s better than when I was at Gamlen’s, at least.” The blood had dried down her face, making her grin look lopsided and wrong. Biting the inside of her cheek, Aveline swung the door shut to lock the Champion of Kirkwall within, the thud shaking through the floor and reverberating into her limbs.

“I’ll check up on you before I’m done my patrol...make sure you’re doing alright.”

Hawke waved dismissively with her good hand. “You don’t have to do that. You’ve done enough for tonight.”

The poor word choice made Aveline clam up. It must have been obvious, for it caused Hawke to laugh and clarify her intent. “I didn't mean it like that. What I mean is-I know this was hard. You were just looking out for me. No need for me to bother you further.” Reaching behind the bars, she patted Aveline on her pauldron as a sign of good will, making an attempt to smile before she withdrew her hand. That seed of disgust and doubt bloomed to its fullest as she caught Hawke’s expression before disappeared in the shadows of her cell, the metallic groan of the cot the only indication of where she had moved.

“I’ll try not to choke on my own vomit.”

Hoping she couldn't see her frowning, Aveline turned her head in the direction of the cot. “If you need anything, my guards can get it, within reason. Just ask.”

“A drunken confession between you and me? I’d sooner die of embarrassment right now. Vomit and all.”

Empty dramatic statements were Hawke’s specialty; yet in this moment, Aveline heard no trace of humour in her voice.

“Just ask,” she repeated, ignoring Hawke’s comment. With her journey and task complete, Aveline walked away feeling like her windpipe was slowly collapsing in on itself. The last expression she saw of Hawke played in her mind on loop, making her sleep restless.

It was fear.


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke was awake when she came to her cell in the morning, sitting slumped over the edge of her bed. She was transfixed by her swollen purple and blue hand, pressing into it hard and methodically. The sound of the cell opening made her jump and look up at Aveline as she went inside. Apparently she had been caught unaware by her approach, a rare occurrence for the usually observant woman. With the source of the noise identified, Hawke bowed her head, unwilling to face Aveline.

“How was your sleep?”

“I didn’t.”

The translike state Hawke was in was a staggering pivot from her naturally—if inappropriate

for the situation—chipper self from the previous night. Aveline would have attributed her solemnity to sobriety and the realization of what she had fallen into, but something told her that wasn’t entirely the case.

“Did anyone bother you?”

“A little.”

Of course they did. Why hadn’t she considered that more thoroughly? There were people in there because Hawke had brought them down, people who never had a good intention in their life. She thought that putting her far away from the occupied cells would bypass the issue, but it didn’t. Dwelling on it wasn’t helpful, and she had time to regret it later. No matter what her emotions were, Aveline had one last try to get through to her friend.

“Before I let you go,”  she sat down beside Hawke and tried to catch her downward gaze. “I want to say something, and it might be hard to hear. Is that okay with you?”

“You’ve already locked me in a cell, Aveline. I doubt what I’ll hear is going to be much harder than that.” Whether Hawke was making an attempt at a joke or felt contempt for her was unclear. Planting her hands on her knees, she went through the script she had hastily composed in her mind and began.

“We’ve been through a lot together...seen each other in dark places. I don’t want to see you there again, and last night proved it’s going in that direction. Everyone does questionable things in order to cope sometimes. You’ve been trying to hide it, but you’re not as subtle as you think you are. I can see there’s more happening.” Punctuating her point, Aveline undid her gauntlet and slid her fingers over the thumb pressing into her bruise, making Hawke stop her self-flagellating act.

“But you need to promise me this won’t happen again. I can’t have you roughing people up like a thug because they said something you didn’t like. Not only that-I couldn’t even trust you enough to go home without doing something stupid, or end up hurting yourself along the way. You need to do better than this.”

Running her hand through her hair, Hawke exhaled shakily, still refusing to acknowledge Aveline beyond listening to her.

“I’m not expecting for you to walk out of here and have everything be fine-these things take time....they take work. But I want you to start trying, and I want you to do it for yourself. You stretch yourself thin because you don’t want to disappoint people, or you do it because you want to help them. This should be for your own sake, because you want it. Promise?”

It took longer than Aveline wanted for her friend to answer, though she suspected it wasn’t the act of promising that made her hesitate. With eyes closed and a mechanical scratch of her arm she agreed. “Okay,” she gestured around her cell. “Lesson learned.”

It was an answer at least, and hopefully a turning point. “I’ll walk you out.” Aveline stood up and began to walk out of the cell, Hawke trailing behind at a distance. When they stood outside in front of the grand doors of the Viscount’s Keep, the bright sun made Hawke squint and shield her eyes, the light an unwelcome greeting for what must have been a bad headache from the morning after.

“What next, Hawke?” asked Aveline.

She looked down the steps and to her estate in the distance and shrugged, dark bags under her eyes making her look ragged and much older than she was. “I haven’t thought much past collapsing in bed and sleeping forever.” Her hand dug into her red sash and pulled out Aveline’s scarf, sheepishly handing it to her. “I’m sorry I made a mess of it. Well, of everything, really. You shouldn’t have to worry about me like that. I’m not angry-not that I’d have a right to be.  I understand why you did it.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Aveline took her scarf from Hawke’s waiting hand, crumpling it as she grasped it tightly. Hawke licked her dry lips and gazed at her intently, dull eyes scanning her own. “I shouldn’t have let him get to me, and I did. You’re right-that’s a new low, even for me.” she forced a smirk, trying to make Aveline feel at ease. “You did what you thought was best. That’s just who you are.”

In her stupor, Hawke likely didn’t remember she had said those same words the night before. The echo of them hit her harder this time, and she was compelled to ask what Hawke meant by them, who she thought she was. She hoped it was different from what she saw of herself, someone whose only way of showing she cared was to lock her in a cell.

Tough love, she supposed. Hawke had fallen so far that she needed a way to prove it, to drive her point through that thick, stubborn head of hers. Yet, she hadn’t even tried the delicate approach. Hawke needed to hear her concern sooner, in ways that weren’t voiced as hesitant disapproval unacted upon. Instead it all came crashing down at once, Hawke blindsided without recognizing there was a problem until it came to putting a foot down.

She could have ended last night when they passed by her home. She could have sat her by the fireplace and gotten her a drink of water, or asked if she was okay even though they both knew she wasn’t. Nothing would have come of it, probably. But Hawke could have known that someone saw her and was extending a hand. It could only be a warped sense of justice that she seized her chance, using Hawke as a sacrifice to prove she hadn’t lost her sense of morality under the guise of doing something helpful. It would have been wrong to let her go, that she was certain-but this didn’t feel right. While it quieted that particular ache in her conscience, a new one rushed in to fill the hole it had left. Guilt was something she expected, but she thought the feeling of righteousness would override it like every other hard decision she had made.

This is who she was; someone who made Hawke afraid when she wanted her to feel safe and looked after, someone who saw her friend stuck in misery and did nothing until it was too late. Punishment was supposed to be secondary, but the very thought was ludicrous to her now. How else was she supposed to feel locked behind bars but isolated and ignored?

If there was a time to act it should have been months ago, the first sign of when she saw something wrong. This should never have been in the first place, and she let it happen.

“Aveline?”

Brought back to the reality she created, she focused on her friend once again. “Hawke?”

“Friends push each other, right?” The callback was meant to evoke a pleasant memory of her and Donnic, where everything had gracefully worked out in the end, her happy ending achieved. But she hadn’t pushed Hawke. She shoved her.

“Yes,” Aveline said, hoping that she’d believe herself if she said it out loud. “I suppose they do.”

Shoving her hands in her pockets, Hawke walked towards her estate without a farewell. As Aveline watched her slow descent down the stairs, she held her scarf close to her chest like a parting gift. She didn’t see Hawke, the Champion that would be remembered in stories for ages to come. It was Marian, that same girl she met leaving Lothering, trapped in that dark place as their worlds collided and crumbled around them like dust.


End file.
